


Bad People

by AnnaRaven



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur Needs To Know He's A Good Guy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Male Friendship, Mild Language, Minor Injuries, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21582442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaRaven/pseuds/AnnaRaven
Summary: Arthur believes he's a bad man. John wants to make him believe otherwise.
Relationships: John Marston & Arthur Morgan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 72





	Bad People

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaxRev](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxRev/gifts).



> Written for maxrev for the Tumblr prompt, "Do you think we're bad people?"

Arthur lay in the dirt, watching the stars swirl in dizzying circles overhead. Mud was seeping into his clothes, chill against his back, and raindrops pattered gently onto his face. The jeering of the crowd was oddly distant, crowded out by the spattering rain and ringing in his ears. Then a dark silhouette appeared above him, its long hair like a scruffy halo, and a scratchy voice said, “Damnit, Morgan. Let’s get you gone ‘fore the sheriff comes by.”

“M’fine,” Arthur protested, trying to swat away John’s helping hands, but then the ground lurched under his feet and he found himself grabbing onto the man’s lanky frame. The big guy who’d thrown him through the saloon window shouted after them, and John gripped Arthur’s coat hard to stop him from going back.

“What the hell happened?” John asked when they were riding out of Valentine as fast as Arthur could manage. “I was only gone five minutes.”

“Some fella in there shootin’ his mouth off, is all,” Arthur said.

“And you took it on yourself to shut him up,” John said, and sighed. “Why d’you always gotta be fightin’ everyone, Arthur?”

“My daddy always said you should stick to what you’re good at,” Arthur said glibly. “Just followin’ in his footsteps.”

John shook his head, but miraculously held his tongue.

They rode for a while longer, across the plains into thick woodland, until Arthur’s horse stumbled and threw him off balance in the saddle. He couldn’t hold back the groan of pain, and John’s head whipped around to peer at him through the rain.

“You’re bleedin’,” he said. “We need to stop and sort that out.”

“I told you once already, I’m fine,” Arthur said irritably, even as his breath caught. on another groan.

“Sounds like it,” John snapped. “I see a cave up ahead, we can shelter there a while.”

“Coddlin’ me like a damn woman,” Arthur muttered, but followed John anyway.

Arthur saw to the horses while John built a fire, then they sat side by side facing out towards the rainy darkness. John wordlessly handed Arthur a leather pouch of medical supplies, followed by a flask of bourbon. Arthur took a drink first, then pulled out a small jar of liniment and a clean cloth.

John watched him wipe at his split lip. “Don’t s’pose there’s any point in offerin’ to help.”

“You suppose right,” Arthur said.

“You’re gonna have a hell of a black eye in the mornin’,” John commented. “And I’ll eat my hat if you ain’t broken some ribs.”

“Ain’t like I didn’t deserve it,” Arthur replied, rubbing liniment across his bruised cheekbone. “Deserve a hell of a lot worse, if we’re bein’ honest.”

John frowned. “How’s that?”

“C’mon, Marston, you know what I mean,” Arthur said, taking another drink before handing back the flask. “People like us, the sufferin’ we cause? We deserve an occasional beatin’ or two, I reckon.”

“Arthur, are you…do you think we’re bad people?” John asked.

The confusion in his voice made Arthur look at him; John was frowning, head tilted to the side.

“What else would you call us?” Arthur asked, just as confused. “How many widows and orphans d’you think we’ve made over the years, huh? How many folks are scared to go outta their homes ‘cos of people like us? Every cent we’ve ever made has had someone else’s blood on it.”

“I know,” John nodded. “But I’ve seen you hand that money over to beggars, war veterans, kids beggin’ on the streets. I’ve seen you stop to help women in trouble, and men come to that, without askin’ for anythin’ in return.”

“A few good deeds ain’t gonna make up for all the pain I’ve caused,” Arthur insisted, shaking his head. “I’m a bad man, John. That’s all there is to it.”

For a while they were silent, listening to the wind howl and the rain fall and the fire crackle. Then, so quietly Arthur had to strain to listen, John began to speak.

“When Dutch brought me back to camp that day, with rope burns on my throat and piss in my pants, I was sure it was all a trick, somehow. I was workin’ out ways to get a weapon, whose throat I’d have to slit to get outta there. I saw you off a ways, choppin’ wood, lookin’ like the meanest son of a bitch I’d ever seen; I thought, he’s the one, the enforcer, the one who’ll be the most trouble. But do you remember what you did?”

Arthur cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. I took you down to the creek to clean up, then we headed back to camp for dinner.”

John smiled, looking at Arthur for the first time since he’d started speaking. “You gave me a fresh bar of soap and a clean towel, which was the first time I’d ever had either. You washed my clothes for me, didn’t say nothin’ about the stains or the smell. And when I near panicked goin’ into the water, you just told me everythin’ was fine and you’d stick around if I needed you. It was the first time in a long time someone had spoken to me without bein’ mean or cruel, without makin’ me feel less than them. And I don’t know much about…religion or God or any of that, and I know it was Dutch who cut me down and brought me home, but…it was you who saved my life that day, Arthur. And you’ve been doin’ it ever since.”

His voice was thick, eyes glinting wetly in the firelight. Arthur couldn’t look away.

“So don’t sit there and tell me you’re a bad man, okay?” John said, fierce, voice breaking. “I know all the shit you’ve done, I’ve been by your side for most of it. But that don’t change who you are – you’re the best man I know, Arthur. The best.”

John swiped his nose with his sleeve and ducked his head, a dark curtain of hair falling. Arthur’s stomach prickled with some unnameable emotion, his throat thick and his eyes hot. He raised one hand, hesitated, then let it fall on John’s shoulder.

The wind howled, the rain spat, the fire danced. And inside the cave, for the first time he could remember, Arthur reflected that maybe there was hope in the world after all.


End file.
